


build up

by woozi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Crying, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oikawa Tooru's Knee Injury, sad late night drives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-10-31 22:33:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10908801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woozi/pseuds/woozi
Summary: “Look at me,” Iwaizumi murmurs, the click of an undone seatbelt slashing the silence. A knee is slung over the cup holders dividing the front seats, a hand softly grasping his jaw. “Tooru, look at me.”Oikawa has no choice at this point. He holds in a sniff, but hot tears slide out despite himself. They hit Iwaizumi’s hands and pool in the crease between his palm and Oikawa’s cheek.





	build up

He clenches his jaw tightly around the pressure building in his throat, behind his eyes, in his nose. His heads turned to the side to gaze plainly out the window as his eyes burn through the suppression. He holds his breath and thinks about nothing until the pressure simmers and the burn cools. He relaxes, for now.

 

Iwaizumi’s driving like he's supposed to, eyes on the road with a tan arm slung over the top of the steering wheel. His thumb is drumming to whatever weird indie song he's playing. Black, casual sunglasses rest on the slope of his nose. Oikawa senses that he can sense that he’s upset, but those frame covered eyes don't slide to the side, they don’t check on him. He’s thankful.

 

The sun is setting. The cast of orange, pink, and red would've blinded both of them if they weren't wearing sunglasses, rays shining bright and proud over the river next to the road. Cars zoom by, ringing his ears, clearing his head. The lights of the city and other cars blur and make beautiful colors. Iwaizumi’s old car is nearly shaking from the speed they're going.

 

Oikawa’s knee is wrapped securely, foot resting on a pillow on the floor of the passenger side. It would have been easier for everyone if he just sat in the backseat, but he wasn't living to please everyone in this life. He’s squeezing his and Iwaizumi’s lanyards hard enough that his palms are sweating. Their team name labeled in the plastic mocking him.

 

The tournament is tomorrow. The tournament that Oikawa can't participate in because of his fucking damned knee. His last high school tournament, with his team, and he can't be in it. It’s really a joke.

 

“Oikawa.” Iwaizumi eventually states, finally deciding to deal with him. His sour aura must have radiated too much.

 

“Iwa-chan.” Oikawa throws back just as flatly, wet eyelashes cool on his cheekbones as he blinks furiously.

 

The car stops. Iwaizumi had pulled over to the shoulder of the road, turning the car off. There's no guaranteed the shitty thing will turn on again, so that was a bold move. Iwaizumi pushes his glasses up onto the top of his head, red marks indenting the sides of his nose.

 

“Look at me,” Iwaizumi murmurs, the click of an undone seatbelt slashing the silence. A knee is slung over the cup holders dividing the front seats, a hand softly grasping his jaw. He slowly takes off Oikawa's glasses for him. “Tooru, look at me.”

 

Oikawa has no choice at this point. He holds in a sniff, but hot tears slide out despite himself. They hit Iwaizumi’s hands and pool in the crease between his palm and Oikawa’s cheek. Iwaizumi’s looking at him with a complicated gaze, like Oikawa’s too intricate to comprehend.

 

“This isn't the end. There will be more tournaments.” Iwaizumi doesn't let Oikawa move his face even as he gets more worked up, wet and snotty sounds contributing to the suffocating pressure of the car. Oikawa needs to open a window before he passes out. Iwaizumi seems to read him because he reaches back with his free hand to start the car up again, so he can open the sunroof.

 

“None with you.” He gets the strength to choke out, watching Iwaizumi’s eyes flash. He almost looks guilty, before the expressions gone as fast as it came, and the thumb on his jaw begins stroking his skin. He hasn't shaven in a couple days and it scratches just a bit. The streaks of his tears leave a disgusting, sticky feeling on his face. 

 

“None with me,” Iwaizumi confirms quietly, “But with people better than me. People as strong as you. People with a will, a purpose for volleyball.”

 

Oikawa tries not to sob, because no, no, no. There's no one better. There's no one who understands how Oikawa plays like Iwaizumi does. No one who know his limits. No one who knows _him_ like Iwaizumi.

 

“But I’ll be there. In the crowd. You know I will.”

 

Oikawa’s hand flies up to curl his fingers around Iwaizumi’s wrist. He keeps his hand pressed to his cheek. Iwaizumi’s hand is not as soft as his, but it's nice and comfortable. This hand has led him everywhere, touched him everywhere, caught his sets, won points. Oikawa can't imagine another game without this hand. A future of volleyball without this hand.

 

He really starts to cry now, chest heaving with deep, shaky breaths that have Iwaizumi awkwardly scooting closer, getting an arm around Oikawa's back to press his palm firmly into. Oikawa sags into him, his chest against the others and he can smell his cologne along with his normal smell. There's no noise except for Oikawa's pitiful crying. No words need to be said; just being there is enough. Iwaizumi's neck burns his even hotter cheek, but he can't pull away. His face is probably stuck there now, anyway.

 

“Aobajosai will win tomorrow. For you.” Iwaizumi promises, kissing Oikawa's head. 

 

Oikawa can pull through this for Iwaizumi. For his team.

 

For himself.

 


End file.
